“What are you looking at?” he asks.
“I’m looking at an overgrown baby who’s pleased with himself, even though he has zero reason to be.”
Yes, it’s definitely liberating. He seems surprised, and for a moment even insulted, but then he narrows his eyes and leans in, smiling, and says with an almost friendly tone, “So just for the record, and so you won’t leave here empty-handed, you should know that Ronit Akiva was also undergoing some very intensive IVF treatments.” When he notices my expression withering, he adds, “So Dina wasn’t the only one who wanted to become a mother. Turns out that in the end, they all want to become mothers; I mean, all the normal women do, so what does that say about you?”
25
MY LEGS ARE SHAKING but I keep walking. Dina wasn’t the only one, Ronit wanted it too.
He obviously meant to hurt me with that, Micha, meant and succeeded, Ronit too! But it’ll take me some time to feel the full impact of that blow; right now my mind is racing with other thoughts, old insights, a muffled realization kicking and screaming inside me, trying to get out, Ronit was also undergoing IVF. Intensive treatments. Ronit too!
I recall the party at Ronit’s, with Eli, all that crying, the mixed messages, running hot one moment and cold the next; it all makes sense now, as do her red eyes and that eerie whisper to me at the end of the party about her “last birthday.” She probably meant it was going to be her last birthday as one of the Others. By her next one, she’d be like everyone else.
It’s all turning upside down. I pick up my pace, hurry, hurry!
The realization sinks in deeper with every step I take: Dina and Ronit weren’t murdered because they didn’t want to be mothers, they were murdered for exactly the opposite reason; they were murdered because they wanted to be, they yearned for it, but someone out there decided it wasn’t going to happen, decided these women had to live with the choices they made long ago, and once they wanted something else, that someone made them pay for it.
When that someone opens the door for me, I hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. It’s a slow, menacing burble.
So this is what she has in store for me? The witch test? My senses perk up.
“You’re early,” she says. With her auburn hair carefully combed and her smooth, fresh face, she looks like a little girl. Make no mistake, she’s not your little munchkin any more.
She signals me to follow her into her room. I immediately notice that Jezebel’s cage is empty. A salty, metallic scent of blood still lingers in the air, bludgeoning my nostrils. Blood for blood.
“I finally discovered who sent you that picture of the witch,” she says.
“Who?” I ask dutifully, like a mother playing a very private game with her baby, trying to mollify her in a world whose rules no one understands but them.
“Guess,” she says with a sly grin.
“I really don’t know.”
“Neria Grossman.” Noticing the disbelief in my eyes, she adds, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Holding up her phone to my face, she shows me a text sent to her: “The number is registered under the name Neria Grossman. Remember I did you a favour, and don’t tell anyone who you got this from!”
Her small face beams with a proud smile.
“You could have faked that text too.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffs, “why would I want to frame that idiot, Neria?”
“Maybe to shake me up?”
“If I wanted to shake you up, I’d go for Micha,” she says. “By the way, I hope you know he was never into me, not even for a moment.” Now she sounds like a young woman trying to comfort the spurned spinster, but maybe she’s right. Maybe Micha wasn’t into her because of her tight black dress, maybe he was suspicious of her and that’s why he was so eager to get her over to my place. But why are you even thinking about that idiot now? He doesn’t exist! He’s not who he claimed to be, and maybe Neria Grossman isn’t who you think he is either? You were never good at choosing your love interests, were you?
“Where’s Jezebel?” I ask.
“Dead,” she replies.
Like everyone else who wanted to become a mother.
She approaches the empty cage and stands in front of it, and like last time, her hunched, thin back and slouched shoulders tug at my heart.
“You want the cage?” she asks. “You look like the pet hamster type.”
I know she’s trying to be cruel, but for some reason the remark makes me laugh, and while I can’t see her face, I can feel her smiling. Chemistry is a very mysterious thing. And it can be just as dangerous.
“Gali, I know.”
“So you want the cage or not?” she asks without turning to me.
“I know.”
Still without turning to me, she presses her face against the empty cage.
“So what, you came to punish me?”
I’d never punish you, my little munchkin, and you know that. Who wants a cuddle from her Sheila? I waited and waited, and here you are, you came.
“No,” I reply, “I came to help you.”
Finally, she turns to me, once again her face wearing a child’s innocence. I wonder if that was how Dina saw her too, when she invited her to the meeting that sealed her fate. A child really does change the course of your destiny.
I picture the pregnant Dina, the baby inside her sprouting limbs and growing bigger with every passing day, as she sits in her office making a list of all the people she wants to “clear
